James and the Rapture

Where's Phil? James wondered. Doesn't he always turn up when the world goes to hell?

For the world had unquestionably gone to hell. Even the terrible chaos when Sammy was born hadn't been as bad as this - back then, it had only been James's life that started to come apart at the seams. Now, it was everyone else's life.

Sammy toddled across the room to retrieve her giraffe from the settee. Only a couple of days ago, Claire had marvelled how sure-footed she was at just thirteen months; it seemed like a lifetime ago. Sammy's early walking was now the least incredible thing about her.

The world's children had vanished, in an instant and without warning. The television news was full of nothing else, and neither government nor scientists had anything that sounded remotely like an explanation. Everyone under the age of thirteen was mysteriously gone.

Except Sammy.

"Why...?" asked Claire, staring at Sammy as if she expected her to join the rest at any moment.

"No-one knows why everyone else has vanished," James said. "Maybe if we knew that, we'd know why Sammy hasn't."

Claire nodded vaguely - it was the first time in years that she'd been anything less than completely in control. He'd imagined she would be the one to leap into action, handing out brisk advice until everyone was pulling together again, but she was as shell-shocked as anyone else. Maybe the fact that her useless brother still had his daughter was too much for her to take.

"Can you do me a favour?" he asked. "We're nearly out of milk, and there's not a lot else left either."

"I've only got enough for myself," she said. It sounded like an automatic response. "And the shops are ... I won't go for you."

He shook his head. "I was going to ask if you could stay here while I went. I don't think it would be a good idea to take Sammy, do you?" They would probably tear him apart for not suffering what they'd suffered, then tear her apart because they all wanted her so badly. On his own, he could probably fight his way through the crowds like anyone else who hadn't lost children personally.

"No. I suppose not."

"And ... well, I don't suppose you've got any cloth nappies lying around in the loft? Only, buying nappies probably isn't such a good plan either."

That was enough to pull her back to the surface. "Yes, I've got a box somewhere. Get some food, and I'll go and fetch them."

There was no fresh milk: nothing fresh at all. A wild-eyed woman was loading the shop's entire stock of UHT into a bag, and when James tried to take a couple of packets, she turned on him. "Leave them alone. I need them for my baby."

For a second, he thought he'd met someone else who had been mysteriously spared. Then he noticed the carrycot beside her. Tucked up in the blankets, like a parody of a baby, was a cat. "Let me have a couple," he said. "I've got a baby at home too."

"You have?" The hope in her eyes was so terrifying that he mumbled an excuse and ran towards the soup aisle. There was almost nothing left, but he took a few tins of oxtail, which had to be better than nothing, and found a single tin of Sammy's favourite Cream of Mushroom half-buried behind some discarded boxes. The boost that gave his hopes soon vanished when another mad-looking girl tried to grab his packet of milk, crying something that sounded like a child's name. He stuffed everything into his bag and got out, before it could get any worse.

"Someone was here," Claire told him when he got home.

"What do you mean, someone?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. They banged on the door, but I took Sammy upstairs and hid. There are bad people around."

"What else is new?" muttered James. Unhinged parents with nothing left to lose couldn't do any worse than Piconus's cronies had already tried when Sammy was a baby, but it was no use trying to tell Claire that, especially now. "I didn't get much. I hope she'll eat oxtail soup."

"You're hopeless," said Claire, sounding almost like her old self. "I'll fetch the nappies."

Five minutes after she'd gone, someone banged on the door. James weighed up the possibilities: bad people, or Phil? He squinted through the spyhole, and saw the unmistakeable features of Sammy's uncle. Weak with relief, he unlocked the door. "I knew you'd come. You always come when things go to hell."

#

"I was with the Heart," said Phil. "I didn't even know that anything had happened until I set out into the human world again."

"How could you not notice the children vanishing?"

The look Phil gave him was almost reassuring: one thing, at least, hadn't changed. "Our children, few though they are, have not vanished."

"Why...?" He looked down at Sammy. "I suppose that's why she's safe."

"It seems to be a logical deduction," said Phil. "I explained to you once that Sammy is more elven than human, and this seems to confirm it."

James imagined a whole community full of children, untouched by whatever had taken their human counterparts. "Aren't you worried that your children will vanish as well?"

"Are you worried that adults will begin vanishing?" asked Phil.

"I ... hadn't really thought about it. If I did, I'd probably crack up."

Phil nodded. "Just so."

"But ... Do you think Sammy would be safe now, with your people? The Heart said she was special and everything..."

"She wouldn't be physically harmed," said Phil. "But old taboos take a long time to die. She wouldn't be received with warmth either."

James sighed. "I don't think she'd be safe here at all. Everyone who's lost children - I suppose it's like Melly a million times over."

"It has to be your choice. You are her only living parent."

He could give Sammy to Melly, and not worry that he was handing her over to certain death. In fact, it sounded like things were ticking over just as normal in the elven world, so he would probably be sparing her a lot of pain. Did she know him by now, well enough to miss him, or was it just that he would miss her more than he could bear?

Rather than confront the question, he asked, "So what's caused it?"

"I don't know."

"I know you aren't certain, but you've got some ideas, haven't you?"

Phil shook his head gravely. "You think that just because it's incomprehensible to you, I must know all about it. But this is not an elven thing. The only elves it touches are me and Sammy - and it touches both of us indirectly. Whatever it is - and its nature is strange and shadowed - it is a human thing."

"In other words, not your problem. Oh, Jesus Christ. What a mess."

Left Behindfeld, Act III

Left Behindfeld: a comedy about a book about nothing. The following covers the "activity" of Tribulation Force.

Featuring:
“Buck” Williams = Jerry Seinfeld
Rayford Steele = George Costanza
Chloe Steele = Elaine Bennis
Rev. Bruce Barnes = Kramer
Guest starring Christina Hendricks as Hattie Durham
Plus special guest star playing the role of Nicolae Carpathia


ACT 3

[SCENE: A Chinese restaurant. JERRY and GEORGE are already seated.]

GEORGE: They’re almost a half-hour late! Where could they be?

JERRY: I don’t know. I called Elaine and left her a message with the address & the table time.

GEORGE: Are they standing us up? Did you talk to Elaine? What did she find out about Hattie? What did she say to Hattie about me?

JERRY: I haven’t heard from Elaine. Maybe she’s still at home. I’ll go call & see if I can reach her.

JERRY gets up, goes off-screen to the pay phones.

[Cut to: a pulpit on a dias; KRAMER comes into frame from the left, wearing rumpled frock, unshaven. He stumbles as he walks up, catching himself on the pulpit, which nearly tips over. He straightens up, and runs a hand through his horribly wiry hair.]

KRAMER: Uh, hey. Hey everybody…

[Cut back to the restaurant. ELAINE is just getting seated. JERRY walks in from the other side of the screen]

JERRY: Oh good, you made it. I just checked my voice mail to see if you’d called.

GEORGE: Where’s Hattie? Didn’t you two come together?

ELAINE: George, she’s not coming.

GEORGE: You didn’t tell her I would be here, did you?

ELAINE: Well, I wasn’t going use your story about not feeling safe alone with Jerry!

JERRY (to George): You think she’s not safe being alone with me?

ELAINE: Actually, after some of the things she said, I’m not too sure about you.

GEORGE: It was just part of the plan, Jerry. It’s not like you two need my permission to date. Though if anyone had asked, I would have offered my blessing. I’m happy to chaperon…

JERRY: You know you’re perfectly safe with me, don’t you Elaine?

ELAINE: From what Hattie said, I’m starting to think any woman would be safe alone with you…

GEORGE: Why did you ruin my perfect plan? We could have had a nice dinner, talked about Jesus, and shamed her into quitting her new job and breaking up with the Anti-Christ! Now I gotta go think up a new plan!

JERRY (to Elaine): So, still want dinner?

END CREDITS

[End Credits music bed playing]

[JERRY is talking on the phone in his apartment]

JERRY: You know, in spite of it all, I think dinner went OK.

[cut to GEORGE sitting on the couch of his own apartment, holding the phone]

GEORGE: What’d you talk about?

JERRY: How much we want to talk to each other, when we could meet to talk again, what kinds of things we might talk about next time.

GEORGE: Then what?

JERRY: Well, I wanted to check my voice mail to make sure I hadn’t missed any calls, and she decided she’d rather go home.

[cut to KRAMER, standing by the door of a church, shaking hands with the parishioners. Nearby, a man in a dark suit stands, watching him.]

OLDER MALE CHURCH PATRON: A very interesting sermon. Do you believe Carpathia is the Anti-Christ?

KRAMER (nervously smiling): Well, now, I never said that, did I?

FEMALE CHURCH PATRON: But you said that the Anti-Christ would be known by certain signs! And Carpathia meets all the signs!

KRAMER (increasingly nervous, looking & smiling at MAN IN DARK SUIT): I’m certainly not naming any names! Not pointing any fingers! The Anti-Christ could be anybody, really.

MALE CHURCH PATRON: But your sermon seemed pretty –

KRAMER: Hey buddy, Scripture is a mysterious thing! Don’t go around trying to put words in the mouth of God!

OTHER CHURCH PATRON: So you’re saying Carpathia is not the Anti-Christ?

KRAMER (flustered): Um, ah, er, God works in mysterious ways. Don’t try to second guess the mind of god! It’s all there in the Book of Revelations! It’s in the Bible people!

[cut to HATTIE walking down the street with someone at night; we can only see him from behind; he is blonde, and wearing a long dark coat. ]

HATTIE: I’m so glad to see you. I’ve had a really bad day. This guy I used to work with is still trying to get in touch with me. When we worked together, all he would talk about was how unhappy he was with his wife. Now, he’s trying to get me to have dinner with him, apparently for Jesus’ sake. He’s really creepy around women in general; he actually got one of his female friends to ask me out for him!

CARPATHIA (still from behind): He’s probably just realized most people never get a second chance, and regretting that he missed his opportunity for happiness. Is he still hanging around that washed-up journalist?

HATTIE: Yeah. They’re probably on the phone right now, talking about Jesus. Still, there’s something really not right about him. He always acts like he’s the most important person in the room. I’m almost worried he’ll try to do something to me for rejecting him.

CARPATHIA turns to HATTIE, revealing guest-star ROBERT REDFORD

CARPATHIA: I wouldn’t worry about it. Guys like that are all talk, no action. (smiles) [FREEZE FRAME, END CREDITS]

Left Behindfeld, Act II, Scene II

Left Behindfeld: a comedy about a book about nothing. The following covers the "activity" of Tribulation Force.

Featuring:
“Buck” Williams = Jerry Seinfeld
Rayford Steele = George Costanza
Chloe Steele = Elaine Bennis
Rev. Bruce Barnes = Kramer
Guest starring Christina Hendricks as Hattie Durham
Plus special guest star playing the role of Nicolae Carpathia

SCENE: JERRY’S apartment. Jerry is eating peanuts and talking with GEORGE.

JERRY: So, any news on the ex-girlfriend?

GEORGE: Hey! We were never physical! It was purely a flirting thing!

JERRY: Do you think it’s a purely professional relationship between those two? The stewardess & the anti-Christ? I hear he’s really handsome.

GEORGE: They’re called flight attendants now. And what’s that supposed to mean?

JERRY: Well, I mean, he’s the Secretary General to the U.N., and he hired a flight attendant to be his personal assistant.

GEORGE: Are you suggesting that there’s something improper going on between the two of them?

JERRY: He’s the anti-Christ, I don’t think it’s possible for him to have proper relationships.

GEORGE: It does kind of bother me that they might be sleeping with each other.

JERRY: Oh, if he's the spawn of Satan, I doubt there's much sleeping.

GEORGE: So what do you think I should do? Should I tell her he's the fourth horseman? You know, so she can save her soul, and break up with him?

JERRY: Hmmm, I dunno. What if she really likes him? I mean, this guy gives her a job, treats her nice, and frankly, her last boyfriend was you…

GEORGE: You don't think that if I told her about this anti-Christ business, that she would rat me out to him? You know, tell him that I know what he is.

JERRY: It's a definite possibility.

GEORGE: Oh man. He’s the head of the U.N.; he could probably have me killed or tortured or locked up!

JERRY: What’s this about dinner with Elaine?

GEORGE: Oh yeah, I sort-of told her you wanted to have dinner with her. But I guess she feels uncomfortable being alone around you, so I suggested she bring Hattie along, and then I’d show up after you all arrived to make it a four-some! That way, I can talk to her about her satanic boss, and she won’t be expecting it!

JERRY: That sounds like a perfectly well-thought out plan. I’ll call for reservations. (walks over to the phone & starts dialing)

KRAMER bursts through the door, lit cigar in hand, unshaven, shirt un-tucked and rumpled.

JERRY: Oh hey Kramer. How’s the sermon coming?

KRAMER: Bad, Jerry. I think this Andes guy is having me watched!

GEORGE (to Kramer): Carpathia?

KRAMER: I don’t know what do to, Jerry. I can’t keep silent, not when I know the truth! But I can’t warn people he’s the anti-Christ, or Mr. Alps will have me rubbed out.

JERRY (to George): Yeah, Carpathia. (into phone) No, not you. Yes, for four. Six-o-clock. OK (Hangs up the phone)

KRAMER: Hey, what was that I heard about a foursome just before I came in? You do know that sort of thing is, ah, un-godly? (tilts head and makes clicking noise)

JERRY: Not like that. We’re just having dinner with Elaine and George’s ex-girlfriend.

GEORGE: She’s not my ex-girlfriend. She’s working for the Anti-Christ!

JERRY: And we think she might also be dating the Anti-Christ.

KRAMER: Whoa! Dating your boss? Now that’s a serious no-no! I don’t remember this one, George. What’d she look like?

GEORGE: Here. Her picture’s in the paper because she’s working for you-know-who… (snorts derisively)

KRAMER looks at the paper, does a double-take.

KRAMER: Giggity! You were getting with that, George?

GEORGE (annoyed): It was never a physical thing!

KRAMER (grinning): Too bad! If you’re going to pay the penance, you might as well enjoy the sin! That’s what I say!

JERRY: And you’re a minister!

KRAMER (gesturing with his lit cigar): But not a very good one!

Left Behindfeld, Act II, Scene I

Left Behindfeld: a comedy about a book about nothing. The following covers the "activity" of Tribulation Force.

Featuring:
“Buck” Williams = Jerry Seinfeld
Rayford Steele = George Costanza
Chloe Steele = Elaine Bennis
Rev. Bruce Barnes = Kramer
Guest starring Christina Hendricks as Hattie Durham
Plus special guest star playing the role of Nicolae Carpathia


ACT 2
SCENE: busy coffee shop. KRAMER is standing in line with several other patrons.

Another customer approaches KRAMER

PATRON: Thank you, Kramer, for warning us about the Anti-Christ.

A MAN IN BLACK overhears this, and looks over at KRAMER. KRAMER notices the MAN IN BLACK, and is startled.

An older couple approaches KRAMER

OLDER MAN: Kramer, with all of the strange things happening lately, I can’t tell you how much of a comfort your sermons have been for me.
KRAMER (nervously): Well, I don’t know about that. I just try to speak the gospel, and offer comfort. The book’s the same as it’s always been!

OLDER WOMAN: Yes, but now, with the disappearances, and the treaty with Israel...

KRAMER: Nope! I’m just reading the Gospels! Same as I did last week, and last year!

The MAN IN BLACK stares at KRAMER, and gets up as a young woman approaches KRAMER.

YOUNG WOMAN: Reverend, I just wanted to say-

KRAMER (frightened): No, no, you’ve got me confused with someone else. Whatever you think I said I didn’t say, and even if I said it I didn’t mean it because it wasn’t true and you couldn’t prove I said it anyway.

KRAMER bolts for the door.

END SCENE

Left Behindfeld, Act I, Scene III

Left Behindfeld: a comedy about a book about nothing. The following covers the "activity" of Tribulation Force.

Featuring:
“Buck” Williams = Jerry Seinfeld
Rayford Steele = George Costanza
Chloe Steele = Elaine Bennis
Rev. Bruce Barnes = Kramer
Guest starring Christina Hendricks as Hattie Durham
Plus special guest star playing the role of Nicolae Carpathia


[SCENE: GEORGE and ELAINE are sitting in a car, driving through downtown Chicago]

GEORGE: So, uh, what’s going on between you & Jerry?

ELAINE: What? I dunno. He seems nice. He does call me an awful lot though.

GEORGE: Yeah, me too. I think he just likes the phone.

ELAINE: Who likes the phone?

GEORGE: He does, apparently.

ELAINE: I mean, if it’s for someone out-of-town, I can see using the phone to chat. Or if it’s late at night and you can’t meet in person, I can see using the phone.

GEORGE: He’s called me late at night when he couldn’t sleep.

ELAINE: (pause)

GEORGE: He just wanted to talk about the Bible. It was a Biblical chat! Nothing more! Not that there’s anything wrong with that!

ELAINE: Aaanyways, why would you call to talk to someone who lives in the same city as you? Just seems kind of weird to me.

GEORGE: Then don’t see him. Don’t talk to him.

ELAINE: On the other hand, he does have that sort of “older man/father figure” thing going for him. And you seem to think he’s OK.

GEORGE: Did you know Hattie Durham was in town?

ELAINE: Your ex-girlfriend? No, why?

GEORGE: She’s not my ex-girlfriend, nothing physical ever happened. I heard she got a new job with the U.N., and I wanted to make sure everything was OK with her. You know, how she’s getting along with the new boss, if she likes New York, if she’s seeing anyone…

ELAINE: You want to call her up and ask her THAT?

GEORGE: Actually, we sort of parted on not-so-great terms, so I was kind of hoping that… you would call her. You know, woman-to-woman.

ELAINE: Why should I do that?

GEORGE: Well, maybe if there was a certain journalistic-type you were interested in, I could arrange a date. (GEORGE claps his hands in excitement) That’s perfect! A double-date! You tell her you want to meet with Jerry, but that you need a, ah, what’s the female term for a wingman?

ELAINE: Wingman?

GEORGE: Nevermind. Just tell her you don’t want to meet him alone, so ask if she’ll have dinner with you.

ELAINE: You’re not going to be there, are you?

GEORGE: It’s perfect! It’s foolproof!

ELAINE: Oh, there’s proof of a fool around here somewhere…

[END SCENE]

Left Behindfeld, Act I, Scene II

Left Behindfeld: a comedy about a book about nothing. The following covers the "activity" of Tribulation Force from pages 60-74

Featuring:
“Buck” Williams = Jerry Seinfeld
Rayford Steele = George Costanza
Chloe Steele = Elaine Bennis
Rev. Bruce Barnes = Kramer
Guest starring Christina Hendricks as Hattie Durham
Plus special guest star playing the role of Nicolae Carpathia

[SCENE: JERRY’S apartment. JERRY is talking on the phone, finishing a conversation. He hangs up, then immediately dials his voice mail.]

JERRY: No messages on voice mail. No one called while I was on the phone. Good. I’m all caught up on messages.

KRAMER bolts through the door, into the room, looking confused and disheveled.

JERRY: Oh, hi Kramer! Glad you could stop by. You seem a little agitated.

KRAMER begins pacing back and forth, head & hands twitching.

KRAMER: I’ve been reading the Book of Revelations, Jerry. Bad stuff, man. Really bad stuff. The End Times are upon us, and it’s NOT good news!

JERRY: OK, calm down. What have you found out?

KRAMER: Well, for starters, that Montana guy?

JERRY: Carpathia?

KRAMER: Yeah, him. I think he’s the Anti-Christ!

JERRY: Of course he’s the Anti-Christ. I told you that. I saw him murder someone, brainwash everyone else in the room, and divide up control of the world to his ten lieutenants.

KRAMER: Yeah, right. At that meeting you were never at, for that story that you never published! Well never mind that. The stuff in this book, it’s out there Jerry. Really trippy stuff! And I think it points right at Mr. Appalachia!

JERRY: Carpathia.

KRAMER: Whatever. Anyway, I gotta work on my sermon. The people have got to be told, Jerry. The people must be told!

JERRY: Don’t you read the paper, Kramer? Carpathia is the head of the U.N. now.

KRAMER: So?

JERRY: The U. (pause) N. You know what that stands for?

KRAMER: What?

JERRY: The United Nations. Look, we have a President of the United States, and he’s one of the most powerful men in the world. This guy is basically the president of the United Nations, and a nation is a lot more powerful than a state!

KRAMER (worried & confused): So what are you saying, Jerry?

JERRY: I’m saying the U.S. is a nation with a president, and the United Nations has the US as one of its nations. So the Secretary General of the U.N. is like the President of Presidents, the King of –

KRAMER: Hey, watch it now!

JERRY: I’m just saying you might want to be careful about calling him names, because if you’re right, he’s not only really powerful, but pretty evil too. You know, like the “hiring goons to take you out” kind of evil.

KRAMER (shocked and nervous): Really? You think so?

JERRY: Oh I think so!

KRAMER (sounding choked): But I’ve already started telling people he’s the Anti-Christ!

JERRY: Well, you should stop telling people. Heck, you should try to figure out a way to un-tell people if you can.

KRAMER (looking panicked): I gotta go!

KRAMER bolts out the door, slamming it behind him. JERRY looks mildly amused, walks over to the couch, picks up the phone and starts dialing.

JERRY: Hey Elaine! You going to church on Sunday? Hmm… hey, have you seen my new apartment yet?

[END SCENE]

Left Behindfeld, Act I, Scene I

Left Behindfeld: a comedy about a book about nothing. The following covers the "activity" of Tribulation Force from pages 60-74

Featuring:
“Buck” Williams = Jerry Seinfeld
Rayford Steele = George Costanza
Chloe Steele = Elaine Bennis
Rev. Bruce Barnes = Kramer
Guest starring Christina Hendricks as Hattie Durham
Plus special guest star playing the role of Nicolae Carpathia


ACT 1
[SCENE: New York Chicaco street sidewalk. GEORGE and JERRY are walking along the sidewalk.]

JERRY: So, did you see the see the newspaper item about your old girlfriend?

GEORGE: My what? Jerry, you know I married my high school sweetheart. True, she vanished in the Event, but I haven’t had any other girlfriends.

JERRY: What about the stewardess you always hung around with? You know, the one you were always flirting with?

GEORGE: Oh yeah, Hattie. She was something, wasn’t she? Too bad it never went anywhere.

JERRY: Yeah, why didn’t it go anywhere?

GEORGE: I’m a married man, Jerry! I have principles!

JERRY: Principles like constantly flirting with a subordinate at work and stringing her along with stories of how unhappy your marriage is?

GEORGE: (glares at JERRY) (pauses) So what was this newspaper item about?

JERRY: Oh, so you remember how I introduced her to that Nicolai Carpathia guy? Turns out, not only is he now Secretary General of the U.N., but that he really needed a good personal assistant. Guess who he hired?

GEORGE: No way! I remember hearing about him getting that job. Wait, weren’t you supposed to cover that story?

JERRY: I did cover the story, remember? He shot the guy who was helping him, and then covered it all up!

GEORGE (sarcasticly): Oh that’s right. Big cover-up. That only you know about. Which is why you’re reading about the news instead of writing about it now.

JERRY: Ha ha ha. Very funny. Anyway, I just though you should know your ex-girlfriend is working for the Anti-Christ, and they’re both in town for some conference.

GEORGE: Hmm... hey! I’m going down to Kramer’s church for services Sunday. You gonna be there?

JERRY: I dunno. I’ve got to get home to check my messages, and I’m meeting with Kramer in a few hours. Will Elaine be there?

[END SCENE]

Foven meets Nicolae, Part 2

I walked into Nicolae's office, ignoring the sweet-smelling woman who ran after me, shouting something I didn't understand. "What have you done with Mellio?" I asked.

He spoke a sentence or two in six unfamiliar languages before finally coming out with some fluid, unaccented Hembrai. "My dear Foven. I understand how distressed you are, but I have done nothing with your young friend."

I think he expected me to be impressed that he knew my name, and who Mellio was. I wasn't: Onis Reeve could probably have done the same. "If you didn't take him, you know who did," I said, also in Hembrai.

"My dear Foven, if I knew who had taken the children, do you really think I would keep it to myself?" Andaroi this time, as smooth and accentless as his Hembrai. Again, I had the feeling I was supposed to be impressed, but the Guild is full of mages who can do that.

I answered in Andaroi, just to show him he couldn't outdo me. "Yes. You are a deceiver."

"A deceiver? You wound me. I want only to lead the people of the world through this terrible time and into peace."

"That might be what you want." I couldn't keep up the Andaroi, so I switched to Arinese. "But that's not what's going to happen. I know someone just like you - he's full of the best intentions, and somehow all he ends up with is a bucket of warm piss."

"You are speaking of the healer Dasil," he said, in perfect Arinese. "It's quite understandable that you distrust him, but he has your best interests in his heart - just as I do."

That unnerved me. How did he know I was thinking of Dasil? Had he checked me out so thoroughly, or could he somehow sense my thoughts? Either possibility could be terrifying, but having come this far, I couldn't let him see my fear. "Dasil's concern for my best interests always seems to make me feel more wretched, and I have the feeling yours may work out the same way."

"My poor Foven." His voice brimmed over with pity that sounded all too genuine. "Open your heart and trust a little."

"I've read about you," I said. "The Final Era book. It lays out exactly what you're going to do. What you've already done."

"Lies." He took a couple of steps towards me, and I had to back away. "Lies, spread by misguided fools. I'd like to help them all to see the error of their ways, but life is just too short."

He reminded me more and more of Dasil with every word. Something about the aching pity in his voice, and the way he tried to wriggle out of everything. "If it's all lies, what's the truth? What's your real agenda?"

"I already told you, my friend. Bring the people of the world through this terrible time and into peace."

It was a dangerous thing to want, even if he was telling the truth. I knew my history - rulers started out trying for peace, and ended up compromising themselves into oblivion. And the way he was going about it - persuading the rest of the world to join with him and give up their most powerful weapons - could only end in disaster. "You know you're bound to fail," I said. "And I didn't come here to argue about that. Tell me where Mellio is."

"Foven." His voice had a hard edge now, no more of that bleeding pity. This was the point where Dasil would have shoved me towards the refectory or poured something down my throat, but Nicolae could do much worse. "You do not wish to oppose me. It is not wise."

He was right, of course. But since I caught the pox, my life has been one long series of things I didn't wish to do and still did. As for wisdom, I'd long ago decided that was the province of whole mages.

"My only agenda is to bring peace." His voice seemed to drill into my mind. "Your presence here is a wasteful distraction."

Dasil could have come out with the same thing, nearly word for word. And, just as I'd lost my temper with Dasil so many times, I lost it now with Nicolae. "Now listen, you pissing little idiot. Last year, I saw a dragon - an actual fire-breathing dragon. The man who summoned it wanted me to drink its blood and live forever, and I told him to piss in his kecks. Do you think I'm going to let you fool with my mind?"

"Fool with your mind?" The pity was back, like an unwanted touch that made my skin crawl. "My dear Foven, I would never do such a thing."

"You would. You just did. Do you think I can't feel magic being worked, just because I can't read glyphs any more? I'm blind, you fool, not stupid."

"All I want to do is bring peace-" he started again, this time in Hembrai.

That was when I realised there was no getting any sense from him. I hit him the hardest blow I could manage with my staff, and left.

Foven meets Nicolae

Waking up and finding Mellio gone was almost worse than waking up from the pox. Even as I first came out of sleep, I knew I was alone in the room; it went beyond the absence of his breathing into a definite sense that he was gone. I didn't think for a moment that he was at the privy or gone early to the refectory.

What I did think was that Dasil had taken him. Our truce had been holding fairly well for a month or so, but he was quite capable of moving Mellio into a different room to help me take whatever step he thought I should be taking next. And however much Mellio and I complained, neither of us had any right of appeal.

I lay for a while, trying to work out the best way to confront Dasil, but none of the outraged phrases that came to my mind ever made it to my mouth. While I was waiting for him to come in, I heard the most terrible sound from outside. Screams, cries, names called in desperation, swallowed up as more and more parents woke to discover their children gone.

The first few days were terrible. Parents stormed the Guild, insisting that the Masters had to find their children. No matter how many times Previs Corvus explained that they were doing all they could, they kept coming. I think they must have been doing the same thing to the sheriff's office, because Faric Faber threatened to put the city under martial law if they didn't disperse.

The Guild itself was less affected than the rest of the city: research mages don't usually have children. Some, like Noen, had had nephews and neices, and a handful of the students had had brothers young enough to be among the vanished, but Mellio was the only disappearance from within our walls. All the same, it changed us. Anything that didn't have a direct chance of finding the children was pushed to one side, and huge working groups formed to try different methods of searching. Algen, Tilf and Falla, of course, were at the heart of one of them, running the highest powered viewing spells there had ever been.

And I was on the outside. Oh, Dasil put me to work folding sheets and carrying teas for the mages who cracked under the strain, but there was nothing useful I could do towards finding Mellio and the others. I could only sit and listen to whole men doing their part, and simmer in the bitterness I thought Mellio had helped me banish.

But maybe I had banished it. I wasn't willing to accept, as I once had, that the situation was hopeless. I couldn't help by reading the glyphs, but I'd learned another way to take action. I could search for answers in my own way - I'd done it once, and I could do it again. So I asked Onis Reeve to find out what he could, and I kept my own ears open in the refectory, and between us we put a few pieces together.

There was never any direct evidence - it was even worse than the dragons. But this Nicolae Carpathia kept cropping up on the edges of conversations, until I wasn't ready to believe it was a coincidence. If he hadn't taken the children himself, he knew who had.

Wallen Ross's old assistant found the only piece of real evidence among Wallen's private books. It was a strange thing, an Andaroi translation of something from across the other ocean, and even worse written than that ridiculous Ersh book Mellio and I struggled with. It was about the "Final Era" - their idea of how the world was going to end. It began with the children vanishing into air; after that, a charismatic leader emerged who would bring war and chaos. They even named the leader: Nicolae.

The moment we'd finished reading, I asked Onis to find me a passage across the ocean.

Feasting on the Word

Buck lay on the guest bed of the house Bruce had helped him find. The former owners were with God, so it seemed all wrong to criticise their decor, but he couldn't stomach the weight of kitchy junk in the master bedroom.

There was one advantage, though: plenty of Bibles to hand. Buck had spent long enough listening to Bruce going on about "feasting on the Word" to decide it was something he wanted to try his hand at. He'd lifted the Bible from the master bedroom - with creased pages, pencil annotations, the lot - and now he was trying to make sense of it.

He started on one of the pages with the heaviest underlining, and followed the notes from there. But flipping backwards and forwards just gave his mind plenty of time to wander. This wasn't working the way he'd hoped.

Weren't the Gospels where it was supposed to be at? He leafed through until he found them, and there at least was some dialogue, and a plot he could more or less understand. What a revolutionary Jesus turned out to be, when you read it properly. All the things he'd thought he knew were wrong. This guy was a radical - almost a hippie.

If you want to be rich, give your money away. If you want to be exalted, humble yourself. Love your enemies, and pray for the ones who put you down.

He knew he was on the verge of something important, but he couldn't quite wrap his head around it. It was all so paradoxical. Of course, he knew that you just had to trust in God and everything else would fall into place, but he couldn't quite suspend his old beliefs. If someone put him down, it was only natural to strike back. How was anyone supposed to overcome that?

An image of Chloe came between him and the words. Sitting there with her hair all sleek and shiny - how good would it be to run his fingers through that hair? Tousle it up good and proper, and then steer her head gently downwards...

Jesus! He was supposed to be studying the Bible, not indulging his impure thoughts. Deep breath, get himself under control, and back to the Word.

The first shall be last and the last first. Everything was all back-to-front and upside-down. Did Bruce understand this stuff? He'd been at it for longer than Buck, of course, but if he could make sense of it, it wasn't impossible. Blessed are the meek...

No. It was no good. All the words in the world couldn't drive that picture of Chloe out of his head. Two-thousand-year-old words versus one of God's more delicious recent creations - there was no contest really. Jesus would probably understand anyway - wasn't He supposed to be all about love?

He reached for the phone.

Lead Thoughts and Lost Horizons, Part 5

[Note: This has been on hiatus far too long. I've been meaning to get back to it, but life just kind of passes by. Either way, my intention is to get an entry a week or so. There's much story left to tell.]

The dream slowly drifted away, leaving only the faint traces of a strange scene. He couldn’t remember specifics, only setting and idea. His dreams were always like that.

A sold out theater. Movie, live show, it didn’t matter. He’d been sitting half way back, in the middle of the main section of seating, surrounded by strangers, friends, and family. He laughed in all the appropriate places, cried at all the right times. He was part of the crowd. But he was still alone.

On either side of him were empty seats, oppressive in their silence.

The fact that he wasn’t in an empty bed surprised him, cleared away the last, lingering mists of the lethargic dream state.

Dawn.

He turned and looked at her, sleeping peacefully, the hint of a smile on her face. The clock on the night stand behind her read 2:04.

He wanted to go back to sleep but knew it wouldn’t happen now. He’d never been good at falling asleep, at least not since Basic. And a life lived in secret, first running around jungles and deserts, always in enemy territory, then on the lam, constantly in danger, hadn’t helped. It had been useful, had saved his life on several occasions. He wasn’t ready to give that up, even if he was capable.

He looked at Dawn again. He didn’t understand her, probably couldn’t. She’d let him in. He’d put her in danger, probably in more ways than he would ever know. But she, too, had put him in danger. They'd found him when he decided to stay in one place. Even though that had ultimately been good he still felt trapped.

“You deserve better,” he whispered. She didn’t respond. “You need to find someone who’s actually able to stay with you.”

He rolled out of bed, pulled on the pair of jeans sitting on the floor, and grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand on his side of the bed. He pulled Smith’s card out of the pocket of the jeans and snuck in to the living room. It was time to arrange a meeting, time to start moving again.

After he dialed the number he stared at the phone for a long while. It was a tougher decision than he’d realized. He knew he couldn’t stay, but suddenly realized he didn’t really want to go.

Still, he knew that in the end he had no choice. He pushed the call button.

The phone on the other end picked up on the second ring. “Smith.” It wasn’t the voice of someone awakened from sleep, but someone who was fully alert.

“I, uh…” he wasn’t sure what to say. He’d expected to leave a message on Smith’s voicemail. “This is, um, this is…Alex Simkins,” his own name sounded strange in his ears. “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour.”

“I’m always awake at this hour,” Smith said. “I assume you’re calling to talk about the job.”

“Yes.”

“Be at my office at 9. We’ll talk then.”

“Your office, 9 am.”

“That’s what I said. Anything else?”

“No, not right now, Special Agent Smith.”

“If you get in to any trouble with law enforcement, just show them my card.”

The call cut off.

He flipped the phone closed, stared at it for a moment, then turned back towards the bedroom. Dawn was standing in the doorway, loosely wrapped in a robe, arms crossed over her chest. She looked like she was about to start sobbing.

“So I guess this is getting to be a thing with me,” she said.

“What?”

“The men in my life disappearing from my bed.”

“I…” he had no idea what to say, “I can’t explain it. But this is what I have to do.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She shook her head, then turned and walked back in to the darkness of her bedroom. “You’re just saying that to make your cowardice sound like bravery, you know.” The challenge seemed to come from the walls around him.

* * *

He’d passed through Chicago a few times before, so he knew enough to head in to the city with enough time to account for traffic. But 290 was almost completely empty when he got on. He knew it was a weekday, probably a Tuesday, but those distinctions really didn’t matter anymore. His life had been lacking those standard demarcations for so long that he had a hard time remembering half the time.

It looked to him like the rest of the world had taken on that same attitude. Five cars were headed in to the city when he got on the road. A few more trickled on to the highway as he got closer in, but he never had to drop the Acura’s speed below 65.

Closer in to the city the highway passed next to the tracks for the El trains. Almost no one waited on the platforms. The trains seemed empty. Police with dogs walked up and down the platforms. He caught a glimpse of a cop checking the ID of a commuter.

Traffic began to slow down as he got closer in to the city. Several police cars and a SWAT truck sat off to the side of the road, lights on. Something was going on. Something serious. They generally didn’t send SWAT to car accidents.

The situation rapidly became clear. There was a security checkpoint. Two big, concrete barriers had been set across the ramp to Lower Wacker, forcing traffic in to a choke point that passed beneath a building that stretched across the highway.

He rapidly corrected his assessment. It wasn’t a choke point, but a kill zone. Several second and third floor windows in the building had been broken out. The snouts of .50 cal machine guns poked in to the open air, covering the roadway.

Traffic from the other direction, however, wasn’t being blocked. Apparently they were worried about something getting in to the city but not concerned about what might get out. Rob thought about the collection of guns in the trunk of the RSX and briefly regretted bringing them with.

But there was no way to know. Besides, what was he supposed to do with them? He sure as hell couldn’t have left them at Dawn’s place.

Even with traffic completely stopped the wait wasn’t long. There weren’t many cars and apparently the police weren’t requiring full searches.

An officer tapped on his window. He rolled it down and handed his license over.

“Alex Simkins,” the cop said, reading his ID. “What brings you in to the city today?” The question was delivered in a surprisingly pleasant tone.

“I have a meeting,” Rob replied, deciding not to take any chances. He flashed Smith’s card.

The cop’s eyes widened. He handed the ID back. “Well, then, you’re clear to go, sir.”

“Thanks, officer.” Rob decided to risk a question. “If I may ask, what’s going on?”

“I couldn’t tell you, sir,” the cop said. “I think you know the man to ask, though.”

“Ah. Thanks.”

“Have a pleasant day, sir.”

Rob tossed off a quick salute, rolled up his window, and drove in to Chicago.

Ray Goes to Church Part III

He didn't know how long he was in the cellar behind his house, hiding like a rabbit in its burrow. He wasn't proud of it—he hadn't planned on being down there for so long. It was just that every time he thought about crawling out of there, he never could seem to find the strength. It took all his efforts just to make it up the stairs so he could go outside to use the bathroom.

Most of his days were spent huddling in the dark, crying and weeping, checking every other hour near the burnt remains of his house for signs of his family, and weeping when he found none. He never thought it was possible to cry this much—he thought at some point you must reach your limit, but every time he thought he was done, something would remind him of Irene, Ray-Ray, or Chloe, and the tears would come again. Sometimes he found his hand lingering towards his gun. But he was too spent from grief to have the nerve needed to pull the trigger.

Food wasn't a problem: Irene had always worried about disasters, natural or otherwise, so their cellar was stocked to the brim with all varieties of canned food and bottled water. Trouble was he didn't have the strength to eat. Occasionally he would grab a can, open it, and slowly sup on it, but he felt no hunger, no desire for any nourishment of any kind.

But at some point, he must have reached the end of tears, at some point, the paralysis that had gripped him, had kept him in the dark, lifted, and he found himself staggering off of the cot he'd slept on and staring at himself in the mirror.

I look like death, he thought. He couldn't recognize himself any more. His beard had grown long and his clothes hung loose around his waist. "And you said, 'I'd never get back to my playing weight,'" he muttered, looking at a picture of Irene in his wallet. He would have laughed, at that moment, if he hadn't felt so much like crying. Then he heard it—the sound of footsteps above his shelter. Immediately he grabbed his gun. He didn't know if he could hold off any gangs, but he was sure as hell going to try.

He peered out of his shelter, wincing as he heard the door creak, only to see a sight he never thought he'd see again. "Chloe..." he choked.

There she was, pale as death, leaning on the arm of her roommate, Vivian. His wife had never liked Vivian and truthfully, Vivian had always worried him a little, with her wild hair and clothes, but she and Chloe got along well; they had been roommates since they were both freshman. Last time, he had seen Vivian, her hair was electric blue and she was showing some new midriff tops, the better to show off her belly ring; this time, however, Vivian was like Chloe, dressed in shapeless baggy clothes. He wondered what was with her—Vivian had always leaned towards bold clothing—but then it was obvious; they weren't dressing to make a fashion statement: they were dressing to protect themselves.

"Chloe!" he shouted, so happy to see her alive that he forgot all about hiding from the gangs.
Vivian glared at him. "I don't know who you are, but you got your turn, so lay off. I've got a gun and I'm not afraid to use it."

Ray sat his gun on the ground as a gesture of good faith and raised his hands. "It's okay. I'm her father."

Vivian turned her head and Ray began to wonder if putting his gun on the ground was such a good idea. "You are," she finally said, with a pained smile. "Geez, you look like hell."

Ray ignored her comment. "You girls eaten yet?"

"No. We used up our last rations days ago." And he knew this was the truth; both Vivian's and Chloe's eyes betrayed a certain hollowness that comes with hunger.

"Follow me." And he led them down into the cellar.

Vivian led Chloe to one of the cots, leading her by the arm as if she was a child. So far, Chloe hadn't said a word, which was new for her. What happened to his bright, vivacious girl who was always full of news to tell? God did, that's what. God had ripped everyone away and reduced his bright daughter to a shell.

He still remembered the words he had said back at the church, but he didn't think much on them. They were fine words but what good was all this moral posturing when he was up against something like this? He turned on the hot plate and heated up some Dinty Moore for Chloe and Vivian. Once it was ready, he ladled some onto some Boy Scout bowls.

Vivian swallowed her food eagerly, barely bothering to blow on the food to cool it, but Chloe sat, staring into space. Vivian licked her bowl clean and turned to Chloe. "Clo, you've got to eat." When Chloe did not move or respond, Vivian sighed and began feeding her. Judging by the bored expression with which she did all this, this was not something new for her.

When the meal was over, there was nothing left except for an awkward silence. Chloe didn't want to talk; he didn't know what to say to her anyway. Only Vivian had the courage needed to break the awkward silence. "So what's the plan now? I mean, I came this way to protect Chloe, and besides I don't have a home to go home to anymore, so I'm kind of wondering what to do now."

"You can stay with us," he said. But as he spoke, he was already calculating how much longer his food stash was going to last, now that he had two more mouths to feed. But he couldn't just turn a young girl outside alone. He started gathering his remaining canned food and water. "I think I know a place we can go for now. Can you help me with all this?"

"Sure." They started gathering armloads of cans and bottles while Chloe sat listlessly on the camp bed.

"By the way," Ray asked. "Do you really have a gun?" Another gun would help add to their protection.

Vivian shook her head. "I was bluffing and hoping like hell you wouldn't call me on it."

"I see." They forced the door to the shelter open and peered cautiously before stepping outside.

The car was where he had left it. The windows were smashed out and the sides were covered in dents but it still looked drivable. They dumped the food and water in back and ran back to the shelter.

"You get Chloe," Ray said. "I've got a few more things to take care of." The two girls climbed the stairs, leaving Ray alone in the pit that had been his home. He looked around for a moment before grabbing some more ammunition for his gun. You never know when you might need it, he thought.